


Peter Hale's Hero

by asarcasticwitch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Biting, Bottom Peter Hale, Car Sex, Deputy Stiles Stilinski, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, First Dates, Good Peter Hale, Hair Pulling, Hale Family Feels, Happy Ending, Jordan Parrish Is An Asshole, M/M, Not Beta Read, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Sex, POV Third Person, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Top Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Courting, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23758519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asarcasticwitch/pseuds/asarcasticwitch
Summary: The first time Stiles met Peter Hale, it had been entirely by accident.An accident he will be grateful for until his dying breath.The man had been brought into the station after allegations—which were later proved false—were made against him. The moment was akin to one of those cheesy Rom-Coms where the two love interest’s eyes meet across the room in slow motion; Stiles’ breath had seized in his throat, his heart hammering wildly in his chest, and, well, he fell.He fell hard.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 42
Kudos: 758





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not really sure what to say about this apart from the fact that I'm actually pretty happy with how it turned out. I usually have some sort of grievance towards everything I write, but I really enjoyed writing this.
> 
> It's not as mushy as my last few fics, but it's still got a happy ending. 
> 
> As always, don't expect magic, all mistakes are between Grammarly and me. Tenses are a real struggle, so forgive me for that sin. 
> 
> This was posted originally as 'Happy Accident' but after a lot of re-writing and editing, I decided to change the title—just making ya'll aware. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They travel in silence for a little while, Stiles fidgeting as he tries and fails to start a conversation. He’s never known himself to be this quiet.
> 
> Usually, by now, he’s embarrassed himself beyond repair, but for some reason, he just can’t get his words out.
> 
> Thankfully, Peter must sense his momentary brain malfunction and decides to come to the rescue. “What do you know of werewolf courtship, Stiles?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

The first time Stiles met Peter Hale, it had been entirely by accident.

An accident he will be grateful for until his dying breath.

The man had been brought into the station after allegations—which were later proved false—were made against him. The moment was akin to one of those cheesy Rom-Coms where the two love interest’s eyes meet across the room in slow motion; Stiles’ breath had seized in his throat, his heart hammering wildly in his chest, and, well, he fell.

He fell hard.

The whole _accident_ part was due to the fact that Stiles hadn’t actually meant to be at work that day. He’d been contentedly spending his day off reacquainting himself with his dick when his father, the Sheriff, had called to say he’d very, very _accidentally_ forgotten to fill in the paperwork relevant to a little mishap from the previous day.

He’d grumbled that the victim should’ve called an ambulance rather than the police if he’d really been so concerned about the unfortunately placed eggplant. However, his father, ever the diligent lawman, had scolded Stiles for his lack of sympathy for the poor civilians of Beacon Hills—all the while holding back his snorts of mirth at his son’s expense—and demanded he come in to do what his job entails.

Stiles knows that once you finish a case, you have to file the reports and sign your name on the dotted line, no matter how menial. But come on. He’d have no problem with his name being tied to the solving of murders or kidnappings, ’cause that shit is why he’d become a deputy in the first place. For the glory and adrenaline rush of taking down hardened criminals and seeing justice done.

 _'Deputy Stiles Stilinski; The Sole Saviour Of The Beacon Hills Citizen Who Got An Oblong Vegetable Stuck Up His Ass’_ just doesn’t have a very heroic ring to it.

Stiles has been a Deputy under his father for nearly five years now, and all he’s seen so far are drunkards, the odd drug dealer, and a whole lotta speeders.

That’s it.

He gets that Beacon County is basically just a grain of rice on a map, but Christ on a Bike, he’s starting to think all those crime dramas and police documentaries he’d watched as a kid were just fairy-tales.

Look, he knows he sounds a bit sick and twisted like he wishes for terrible things to happen to people for his own gain, but that’s not true. Stiles just wants to take down the bad guys; that’s all he’s ever dreamed of doing since his mom told him what his dad does for a living.

Little Stiles had, from that day on, looked at his father as his idol, his hero, and he’d sworn from that moment that he’d do everything he could to be just like his dad. He just hadn’t realized as that chubby, spasmodic, and incredibly naïve kid that being like his father meant a fuck ton of paperwork and minimal action.

Anyways, Stiles had huffed his grievances over the phone, every single one of which falling on deaf ears and eventually relented.

Not that it really bothers him, but Stiles wouldn’t be Stiles if he didn’t contradict everything his father says—even if it's just for kicks.

Stiles had been almost finished said paperwork, having rushed through it so he could get back to his _leisurely activities,_ when a call came in regarding an assault. A man having been punched into unconsciousness type of assault, and Stiles had begged his father to take the case.

Much to Stiles’ dismay, while his father agreed he could interview the suspect, his detestable partner, Jordan Parrish, had been the one to actually go out on the field and make the arrest.

He wasn’t too bitter about it though—not one bit—since he was still given a chance to work the case. But some part of him really wished he’d been the one to bend Mr. Hale over the patrol car bonnet while securing him for transport to the station.

But, one cannot have it all.

Stiles knew of Peter Hale but had never actually met the man until Parrish brought him in with his hands bound behind his back in the standard metal handcuffs.

Didn’t that image just ingrain into the most bottomless pits of his brain for all eternity?

He’d sauntered his way through the station as if he hadn’t just been arrested as a suspect for grievous assault, looking the picture of a suave criminal with nothing to fear.

Well, it turns out he actually didn’t have anything to fear, considering he was completely innocent. The one who called the station with the accusation, the supposed _witness_ , had been the one to do the deed.

Not that he’s one to brag, but Stiles figured the whole thing out in just under twenty-four hours, and, yeah, he’s pretty proud of that achievement—so was his father. Also, the look on Parrish’s face had been priceless, equal parts disbelief and indignation.

 _Sucker_ , the voice in his head chuckles darkly at the memory.

From the moment Stiles sat down across from Peter in that interview room, he’d known the man was innocent. Not because he looks it, oh no, quite the opposite actually. His appearance is that of a seasoned bad boy, but that doesn’t necessarily mean criminal.

He doesn’t doubt that Peter has done some less than legal things in his life, assault maybe even one of them, but not that time.

He can’t describe it exactly, something close to a gut feeling, maybe even a little intuition, but whatever it was that screamed at him in that moment, he just knew Peter wasn’t guilty. So, he’d worked his absolute ass off to prove his little inkling right.

He couldn’t confidently say if it was his lust for justice or his lust for Peter Hale that pushed him to close the case in record timing. He doesn’t care to dwell on the specifics; all that matters is he now has his name tied to something slightly less embarrassing. 

_'Deputy Stiles Stilinski; Peter Hale’s Hero’_ sounds infinitely more appealing.

Stiles would also like to touch upon the fact that Peter is the absolute epitome of perfection.

He’s older, yes, but Stiles just sees that as copious amounts of extra experience, and God does he want to test out that theory. He’s about the same height as Stiles, but that doesn’t take away how, by the look of him, he could crush Stiles’ head between his thick muscled thighs like a grape.

Call him a masochist, but that just turns him on to no end.

The guy has this aura about him. Stiles can’t quite explain it, but whenever he walks into the room, suddenly all the air leaves his lungs, and he doesn’t miss the fact that every other person’s gaze is focused solely on the older male.

It’s strange, to say the least.

He’s smug about it too, no ounce of modesty about him. He knows he’s as hot as all hell and knows he can use that smarmy smirk to worm his way out of any situation. It’s infuriating, especially when Stiles had gotten the brunt of it while interviewing him, then later for being the one to set him free.

Who’s he kidding?

Being the one at the receiving end of all those filthy grins and wickedly flirtatious quips had been the fucking icing on the cake for Stiles. He’s not too proud to admit, even just to himself, that those moments spent with Peter had been the pinnacle of his lackluster existence.

Christ, the man shook his hand in thanks, and Stiles had almost come in his pants. He doesn’t too much like to dwell on the fact that had Peter been guilty, he probably would've bent over backward to be the guy’s pen-pal lover from this side of his prison cell.

Or maybe he’d have committed some sort of felony himself just to be sent down with him; then he could be his lover in many, many different ways, in many, many different positions on the same side of the cell.

“Well, you smell utterly divine, sweetheart," a smooth, velvety voice cuts through the silence. "What are you thinking about?”

Oh, and that’s another thing about the man: Peter Hale is a werewolf. An _Alpha_ werewolf no less

More on that little nugget later.

“Fuck!” Stiles snaps out of the mental image of a certain someone being down on his knees upon a cold, dirty prison cell floor.

His eyes flicker up to the very man assaulting his every waking thought, and he glares, an attempt to downplay his startled cursing. It falls flat, though, as soon as he sees that gorgeous signature smirk gracing those deliciously kissable lips.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “P-Peter, what… what are you doing here?” He scrambles for words, pretending to play around with the files on his desk, hoping the distraction will allow the recovery of even a modicum of his dignity.

“Oh, I was just passing by and thought I’d pop in to see how my favorite little detective is doing,” Peter says casually, but Stiles can see straight through his airy façade.

He’s being a kiss-ass, so he’s after something.

Stiles sighs, long and put out. “What do you want, Peter?” The words come out a little dry and maybe slightly exhausted.

Since the day Stiles got Peter off the hook—a few months ago now—the wolf has made it his mission to drop by the station unannounced whenever the mood takes him.

The first few times, it had been on the pretense of speaking with his father, but Stiles knows better than to believe that. While his father is a firm friend of the Hales, Talia Hale—Peter’s elder sister—to be precise, the man has never much had a good word to say about Peter.

Not necessarily a bad one either, just a casual wariness of him.

No, whatever the ultimate reason for Peter’s frequented visits to the station after his release is still something Stiles has to figure out, but it definitely isn’t to see his father. That became clear the first time he’d brought Stiles some home-baked goods—a subtle bribe for his help.

Then came the books and the little trinkets.

The man is up to something, and Stiles isn’t sure what; he just hopes it’s nothing _too_ illegal as he would, unfortunately, be named an accomplice.

Somewhere inside Stiles’ brilliant brain, he should know the man is using him for something, but the not so smart part of his mind—the part led by his dick—doesn’t give a shit.

“I’m not always after something, you know.” Peter leans down on Stiles’ desk, putting all his weight on his elbows. “I do, believe it or not, very much enjoy your company,” he all but purrs.

Stiles snorts, but his attention is instantly distracted by the way Peter's back is arched inwards where he’s bent over.

Stiles kind of envies Parrish right now, as the hellhound is getting a front-row seat to that perfect ass—for the second time in so many months. His desk is opposite Stiles’, and the jeans Peter is wearing should be illegal, he should be able to arrest the man for public indecency with how little they actually leave to the imagination, and Parrish is getting to see all that right now.

Stiles must've zoned out a little, thinking of all the ways his petty, jealous ass could hide Parrish’s body because the next thing he knows, Peter’s face is inches away from his own—almost breathing in the same air.

He freezes, unsure of what to do.

Should he pull away? Should he lean in? Should he say something awkward and potentially off-putting?

_Yeah, do that._

“What kind of toothpaste do you use? It’s really working for you.”

Peter raises one of his immaculately plucked eyebrows, giving Stiles a look that is barely concealing his amusement. And Stiles, well, he just wants to shoot himself in the leg. Here he has one of the hottest men alive leaning seductively into his personal space, and the first thing he can think to do is ask about his toothpaste.

His motherfucking toothpaste.

 _You’re going to be alone forever_ , his inner monologue mocks.

Peter hums thoughtfully, actually planning on dignifying Stiles’ question with an answer. “I prefer using the ground-up bones of my prey, but Colgate works just fine,” Peter says through a sarcastic grin, and with how close he is, Stiles has to go a little cross-eyed to be able to appreciate it.

“Huh, thanks,” he nods noncommittedly, swallowing thickly as Peter leans in even closer, lips ghosting over his ear.

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

Stiles’ dick twitches in his pants with the shiver that runs through him.

Christ, this man could talk him through a step by step on how to skin someone alive, and his cock would probably be as hard as a rock by the end of it.

Peter catches his interest—being a werewolf with superior senses and all.

One thing Stiles still hasn’t gotten used to is their heightened sense of smell and maybe the hearing too. It’s seriously challenging to hide anything from a wolf and Stiles no doubt constantly smells of sexual frustration—if that’s even a smell—whenever Peter is around. Even though the wolf has never seen fit to call him out on it, it’s still embarrassing when his nostrils flare and his mouth curves knowingly.

Stiles can feel his cheeks redden under the man’s intense gaze, his tongue darting out to wet his lips in a nervous tic. Peter keeps his eyes locked on his for a moment longer, the ocean blue depths demanding all his focus before he straightens up to stand again.

Stiles let’s all the breath he’d been holding leave his mouth as quietly as he possibly can, but to Peter, he must sound like a punctured tire.

“I’ll pick you up at eight; I’m taking you to dinner. Wear something smart,” Peter speaks matter-of-factly, and at Stiles’ inability to say anything, choosing just to nod like one of those bobbleheads, the man winks before turning on his heel and leaving the station.

It’s only when the doors close behind him does Stiles’ mind come back online, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gulping in water as he stutters to come up with something.

It’s also then that he notices the little post-it note stuck to the edge of his desk... Peter’s phone number.

_What the fuck just happened?_

He must have a look of utter confusion on his face as Parrish decides to pipe up. “Congrats, Stilinski, you've just bagged the hottest guy in Beacon, hell, in the US. Who’d have thought you’d be his type?” The man snorts very unattractively, and Stiles glares at the condescension.

Stiles is hot, granted not as hot as Peter, but he's still a catch in his own right. He has attractive qualities, ones Peter can obviously see through all the layers of awkwardness and immature humor, but he must have something that appeals to the wolf.

He can’t think of any of those qualities right now, but Parrish can go fuck himself, ’cause he’s got himself a date.

“Oh God, I’ve got a date.”

~

Stiles isn’t exactly sure what spurred the Alpha into asking him out on a date.

Well, he didn’t actually _ask_ anything, but the question still stands.

Why the fuck does Peter Hale want to go out with him?

It must be part of some elaborate plan, the reason he’s been coming into the station and lingering around his desk while Stiles does mundane little favors for him. He’d used the excuse that Stiles is clever and something of a computer wizard for why he’d asked him to do all the menial tasks for him online.

It was never anything sinister or anything to link him to criminal activity; sometimes, it was merely ordering his niece or nephew a gift for their birthday. Why he couldn’t just ask one of them for help was beyond Stiles. It was something he’d never bothered to ask, considering how flustered he got every time the man walked into the station and how he got this little fuzzy feeling at being asked for help no matter how ridiculous.

To be honest, he’d sit there and file the man’s tax return if it meant he got a few moments a week to smell his musky and downright intoxicating scent.

God, he’s pathetic.

He's a far cry from a virgin, but whenever Peter is concerned, he suddenly turns into a blushing maiden.

Stiles sighs pitifully, looking at himself in the mirror before deciding to take a shower. Considering he’s been working all day and still has a few hours before Peter picks him up, he thinks he deserves a nice hot soak to wash away all his sins.

He undresses quickly, his clothes miles away from landing in the laundry basket as he steps under the blissful inferno.

He gets several moments of peace before his brain starts working overtime, as it usually does.

What comes to mind isn’t anything sexy as is typical when he gets into the shower but rather the fact that after all the time spent at the Hale house, he never once met Peter.

Stiles’ mother had actually been an emissary in training when she’d met his father. She was well on her way to being the Hale pack’s emissary before she became pregnant with Stiles. It was then that she decided to subtly step back from that life to focus on being a mother and adoring wife.

She kept in touch with them, though, even helped train Alan Deaton to become the emissary in her place, which in turn meant Stiles’ father garnered a relationship with the family too.

Stiles’ mom passed away when he was eight, and Talia had stepped in to help his father through the grief. She’d helped with his growing debts from medical bills and Stiles’ medications while ensuring they both stayed fed and healthy.

Stiles is roughly the same age as Talia’s two youngest children, so she’d welcomed him into her home as a friend for them while his dad was on the night shift.

Peter hadn’t been there, he was apparently in New York for college or a job; while Cora and Derek always mentioned their uncle, Stiles never got a chance to put a face to the name.

To be honest, Stiles hadn’t ever really cared much, too engrossed in getting through his grief and doing child things with other children to bother with grown-ups.

He’d found out quite quickly that the family were werewolves. Cora has quite a temper, and as a little girl of seven at the time, she sometimes lost control of her shift.

Stiles had been a bit frightened at first. He was only nine the first time it happened, but it’d just been the initial shock. After that, he’d been curious and thrilled that his friends were creatures from fairy-tales.

He still hears from Derek and Cora and the other Hales from time to time, so does his father, but with going to different colleges and pursuing separate careers, they aren’t as close as they’d been as kids.

While he’d heard of Peter from his family, it wasn’t until much later that he discovered from his mother’s journals that Peter isn’t just a werewolf but an _Alpha_ werewolf.

Something his brain has decided to fixate on as he cleans himself mechanically.

His mother kept a diary of sorts for every member of the Hale family along with some other emissary stuff that Stiles has looked over copious amounts of times in a desperate bid to feel his mother’s presence again. She’d noted the change in his status the same year she passed away, and Stiles hadn’t really bothered much with that information until he’d actually set eyes on the man for the first time.

Talia is the Hale Alpha as Stiles understands it, so it suddenly strikes him as strange that there are two Alphas in the same family.

Maybe it’s common; he doesn’t know enough about it, but what he knows for sure is that Peter hadn’t been born an Alpha. The only way an Alpha is made is by inheritance or taking the spark from another.

Stiles doesn’t need to be much of a genius to figure out exactly what Peter had been doing in New York before coming back to Beacon—considering Talia isn’t dead, inheritance seems unlikely.

_Whatever._

Stiles doesn’t actually care what the man has done or is planning on doing; his brain is just grasping at straws for any inclination of why Peter suddenly wants to take him out on a date. Its equal parts his curiosity mixed with his deep-rooted self-consciousness, making him dredge up old news, forcing Peter into the villainous role like he has some malicious ulterior motive.

The idea that he genuinely might just be interested in getting to know him is as unrealistic as the Easter Bunny to his traitorous little mind.

He ignores it; he’ll find out soon enough if Peter’s intentions are honorable or not.

Stiles switches off the water as it starts to run cold, his fingers all pruned from the amount of time he’s stood contemplating the plans of Peter Hale under the sprays.

He takes a moment to dry himself, wrapping the damp towel around his waist before he takes a gander through his wardrobe for something smart to wear.

Much to nobody’s surprise, all he comes across is plaid after plaid after-

“Ooh, this will do.” He holds up a burgundy dress shirt, luckily not creased and smelling surprisingly fresh.

He lays the shirt down flat on his bed and goes back to his wardrobe to pull out his neatest pair of black skinnies and the pair of brown brogues he wore to his graduation. He sets the outfit out and marvels at his absolute stellar fashion sense.

His eyes catch sight of the clock on the wall; doing a double-take, he realizes just how long he’d actually been in the shower.

He has no idea when he purchased something as plain as the shirt he’s now scrambling to pull over his frame, but he doesn’t have much time to care. It’s already seven, and he still has to get changed, brush his teeth, style his hair, and maybe have a quick wank to take the edge off before Peter picks him up.

Even thinking of Peter makes him twitch, so, yeah, he definitely needs to take the edge off, lest he pops a boner the second he sees the man dressed up in his Sunday best.

~

Stiles is dabbing his pulse points with his 'special occasions' cologne when the doorbell rings.

He takes a calming breath, smoothing out his shirt as he checks his reflection in the mirror. He looks good if he does say so himself. He’s mighty glad of it too, as anything less than half-decent would’ve had him calling the whole thing off.

He’s dramatic like that.

It’s kind of a moot point, though, as when he opens the door, all thoughts of his own attire flit away in the breeze. He might actually be drooling a little at the sight of the utter Adonis standing on his doorstep.

Peter is wearing _very_ well fitted black dress pants, a light blue—almost grey—shirt which fits into the contours of every one of his muscles perfectly. His sleeves are rolled up his arms too, showing off his strong forearms and the protruding veins that Stiles’ teeth are just itching to bite.

Stiles forgets how to breathe, forgets how to live. This is it; he’s died and gone to heaven.

Or maybe hell is more fitting since this guy can’t be anything less than Lucifer, the King of sin himself.

“You’ll catch flies with your mouth open like that, sweetheart.”

Oh, and there’s that smugness.

Stiles isn’t sure if he wants to fight or fuck this man.

 _Both,_ his kinky ass votes.

“I was just... appreciating the view,” Stiles offers, falling way short of nonchalance with how his heart is beating so hard it can be heard coming out his throat.

“Hm, well, the view I have isn’t too shabby either,” Peter purrs as he leans against the doorframe like he belongs there.

“Be still my beating heart, _isn’t too shabby,_ he says,” Stiles retorts dryly, the look on his face as bland as his words.

Peter huffs out a laugh, an amused smile curling his lips. “Shall we?” He gestures towards the sleek, black Camaro parked in Stiles’ driveway because, of course, the car would be as hot and pretentious as the driver.

Stiles nods in agreement, eyes momentarily distracted by the sex on wheels.

Shaking his head to clear it, he grabs his keys from the bowl at the door. He forgoes a jacket since it's late summer and still humid outside even at this time of night.

He locks the door, checking it twice before bounding down the steps and wandering towards the passenger side.

“Nice car,” he states, wiggling his ass in the comfy leather seats, hands running along the smooth interior. He’s surprised at how roomy it is; even the backseats are spacious.

Which is very rare with a car of this caliber. 

“It’s Derek’s.” At Stiles’ raised eyebrow, he elaborates. “My Bugatti is being wrapped. The color was bugging my happiness,” Peter says as if he’s not talking about a multi-million dollar car.

“Wow, why not just buy a new car? I mean, you clearly have the disposable income,” Stiles says a little too bitterly but fuck it; the guy is peacocking.

“It did cross my mind, but I thought, what’s the point in having two cars when I can only drive one at a time?” There’s that smug grin and sarcastic tone again.

God, Stiles feels all tingly in his tummy.

Which one of his parents does he curse for bestowing upon him absolutely zero self-preservation, an overly trusting heart, and his undeniable attraction to pompous, middle-aged pricks?

Stiles shakes his head, but there’s no heat to the gesture. His gut instinct is flaring, and it’s never steered him wrong yet.

Right now, it’s telling him that Peter won’t hurt him, even if he is a show-off. 

He flails his arms, kicking back as he relaxes. “Onward bound then, my dashing Prince.”

Peter snorts dramatically. “ _King,_ if you please,” the wolf snarks before pulling out the driveway without looking in his mirrors, driving toward their destination.

They travel in silence for a little while, Stiles fidgeting as he tries and fails to start a conversation. He’s never known himself to be this quiet.

Usually, by now, he’s embarrassed himself beyond repair, but for some reason, he just can’t get his words out.

Thankfully _,_ Peter must sense his momentary brain malfunction and decides to come to the rescue. “What do you know of werewolf courtship, Stiles?”

 _Random,_ but okay _._

“Erm... not a whole lot, but basically it’s in your guy’s instincts to do this sort of mating dance before choosing a partner. Sometimes it spans over a few weeks or months, depending on how long it takes for you and your wolf to fully accept the guy or girl. You do little things for them, give gifts—sometimes they have meaning, sometimes they don’t—but it’s usually just a time spent getting to know a potential mate?”

Stiles thinks he’s got all that right but to be honest, while he's a complete slut for knowledge, he hasn’t had much to go on with regards to werewolf culture other than his mom’s journals and what the rest of the Hales had answered.

Mates and mating rituals, funnily enough, never came up.

“No dancing involved, I’m afraid, but yes, that’s pretty much it. It can take a while for both parties to be on the same page, so we do this little _mating dance_ as you so eloquently put it to make sure we are both content.” Peter keeps his eyes on the road as he talks; Stiles just nods along, listening intently. “The wolf side usually spots a potential partner from the word go, but the human side can sometimes take a little longer. Not always. For born wolves, both parts of us are so in sync that instead of seeing ourselves as two separate entities—as humans usually depict us—the man and the wolf are one and the same. But, for appearance’s sake, or for the sake of the one being pursued, we like to partake in a courting period _._ It’s in our instincts to provide, especially an Alpha, so it’s like a fun little love game.” Peter smiles, a genuinely happy smile as he finishes talking.

Stiles processes the information for a second. “Not that this isn’t interesting because it seriously is; I’d love to learn more about you guys.” It’s not a lie, he would, but he has to ask. “But, erm, what has this got to do with me?”

Peter takes his eyes off the road for a second, giving him one of those signature Hale raised eyebrow looks. “I thought that would be obvious by now.”

“Nope,” Stiles shakes his head, popping the _p_ as he tries and fails to come up with something.

“What, you thought I was spending the majority of my time lingering around your desk and asking you to do those favors for me as part of an elaborate plan to take over the world? Come on, Stiles, I’m not so incompetent that I can’t order groceries online. However, I won’t lie; it was rather debasing having to pretend otherwise just for the chance to actually spend some time with you.”

Stiles’ brain somersaults, blinking exaggeratedly as he rolls that sentence around in his head a few times. “Wait... you- I can’t believe this. You asked me to do all those ridiculous little favors for you, all in the name of _courting_ me?! This whole time, I was being courted by the hottest man alive since Satan and I-” Stiles turns in his seat, realization suddenly dawning on him. “The gifts,” he whispers aloud like he’s having an epiphany. “Holy shit, every time you came to the station, you brought me something... a-a cake or a novel or trinket of some sort. Seriously, Peter?!” His voice goes up a few octaves as he loses control of his inside voice. “You couldn’t have, I don’t know, given me your number and talked to me like a normal person instead of dragging this out for... _months_?”

Peter sighs as if Stiles is the one being ridiculous here.

Which, yeah, maybe he has been oblivious, but Christ on a popsicle, this dipshit has been asking him to do his online shopping for months just to spend some wolfy quality time with him.

They're both as hopeless as each other.

“To be fair, if it were such a hardship for you, you’d have mentioned it. You’re not exactly one to keep your opinions to yourself. Something I find rather endearing about you, by the way.” He looks at Stiles as he says that to show his sincerity before continuing. “But, no, you never once complained about my methods of getting to know you better.”

Stiles folds his arms petulantly. “Yeah, ’cause I didn’t realize you were trying to seduce me! I thought I was helping a decrepit old man navigate the internet. My naive, innocent heart and kind nature stopped me from protesting otherwise.”

He’s as stubborn as an ox, he can thank his father for that one, but he still cringes a little at his own inability to stop himself from getting irate quickly.

Peter scoffs, but Stiles can see the enjoyment he’s getting from this, even from the corner of his eye. “ _Old?_ I'm in my prime, thank you very much _,_ and my superior senses clued me into exactly how _innocent_ your intentions were.”

“Fuck you,” Stiles retorts because he has nothing else to give; even his pettiness has abandoned ship at the realization this whole thing is literally childish.

“If you like,” Peter purrs filthily, his ego anything but bruised at Stiles’ shallow insults.

“You’re insufferable,” he huffs, an amused smile curling his lips as his peevish mask breaks.

Peter chuckles at that, the sound warming Stiles up from the inside. “Ah, but alas, you’re still interested.” He gives a saucy wink, and Stiles just rolls his eyes.

“ _Alas?_ What are you from the middle ages?”

“Apparently, I’m a _decrepit old man._ ”

Stiles scoffs, knowing he won’t ever hear the end of it. “You’re not old _,”_ Stiles mumbles apologetically before whispering the rest of his sentence playfully. “Just an asshole.”

It’s only then that he looks up and notices the car has stopped, the gentle purring of the engine so silent and smooth that he hadn’t even noticed they weren’t in motion anymore.

“Hm, I quite agree,” Peter nods as he turns in his seat to look directly at him, a serious expression on his face. “Now, are you going to stop being difficult and let me actually woo you now that you know my intentions?”

Stiles looks at him; the slight crease of hopefulness etching the wolf’s brow giving him the answer to that question. That warm and tingly gut feeling makes his earlier anxieties and self-consciousness take a step back, pushing him to just go for it.

Also, the place Peter is taking him for dinner looks like an exceptional establishment to be wooed, so he’s not about to pass up on that opportunity.

“Fine, but I want dessert,” he states, lifting his chin in finality.

Peter chuckles, dark and provocative; he leans in close to speak his words directly above Stiles’ lips, the ghost of his breath hot against his mouth. “Sweetheart, _I am_ the dessert.” The man smirks and exits his side of the car, leaving Stiles’ mouth hanging open, quite unattractively, at the utter audacity.

If he thinks Stiles will put out on a first date, he has another thing coming.

 _Pft_ , he’s not that easy.

It takes three seconds for Stiles to forget his inner turmoil, almost tripping over his feet in his haste to follow after the man who’s standing—like the statue of a Greek God—holding open the restaurant door for him, all gentlemanly.

Okay, maybe he’s a little bit easy, but who can blame him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter = sexy times!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You wanna get out of here?” Peter asks as his body grazes against his, teasing him with what he can so willingly have.
> 
> Stiles doesn’t even have to think twice about his answer. “Hell, yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains smut, so if that bothers you, please do not read. 
> 
> I have forever wanted to write bottom Peter, but none of the fics I planned out worked with it, I finally got an idea and managed to fit it in, and well, I think it's my new love. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

A few hours pass before they exit the restaurant, both in stitches at an inside joke they’d conjured up halfway through the main course.

Stiles has never actually been on a date, but even if he had, he’s confident that tonight would've rendered any others as complete duds. Despite the apparent differences they have—age and financial stability—they get on like a house on fire, and it’s safe to say that Stiles is well and truly captivated.

If he hadn’t been in love before, after spending an evening with the man, he most definitely is now.

Peter has the same sarky, dry sense of humor that he has. He also has a deep lust for knowledge, is a secret DC fan, and on pain of death made Stiles swear never to repeat the fact that he absolutely _adores_ Harry Potter.

Under all that suave bad-boy bravado, he’s a real softy, a vintage-style romantic at heart, no matter how many times Stiles protested, Peter made good on his words and spoiled him by paying the bill.

The meal was perfection, easily three of the best plates of food he’s ever eaten. While Stiles’ diet mostly pertains of curly fries and milkshakes, he still likes to think of himself as a bit of a foody, and tonight’s fare scores top marks. They also went the whole cliché and shared a dessert, staring adoringly into each other’s eyes as they fed spoonful’s of luxurious chocolate mousse directly into one another’s mouths.

An erotic vision of Peter’s clever tongue curling around the spoon brings an abrupt halt to any further thoughts on their dinner. Stiles now believes in the whole chocolate being an aphrodisiac thing ’cause all of a sudden, as if a spark has spontaneously combusted in his core, he gets the blinding urge to jump the wolf’s bones.

To take him right here in front of God and company.

Peter must sense his arousal as his laughter dies off. He stalks forward, slow and predatory, until Stiles’ back connects with the car, boxing him in with his hands at either side of his shoulders. Leaning down, he takes deep, greedy breaths from right in the crook of Stiles’ neck.

Tilting his head to the side, he gives the Alpha better access, gaining a low rumble of approval for his efforts. His cock shows interest, Peter not even touching him, and he can barely contain his desire.

“What would you say now about my earlier offer of dessert?”

“Two desserts in one evening, I am a lucky boy,” Stiles whispers, breath hitching as Peter nips gently at the skin above his pulse point.

Peter lifts his head, just enough for their lips to be parallel but not yet touching. “Hm, I like to think I'm the lucky one here.” 

Slow and steady the wolf moves in, giving Stiles the chance to decline, and when he doesn’t, their mouths finally connect in a passionately tender kiss. It’s barely heated, no fierceness of teeth and tongues, just a firm press of lips that’s somehow the most intense kiss Stiles has ever had.

It’s over before it’s even begun, but Stiles comes away breathless like Peter has just sucked the soul from his body with that one simple taste.

“You wanna get out of here?” Peter asks as his body grazes against his, teasing him with what he can so willingly have.

Stiles doesn’t even have to think twice about his answer. “Hell, yes.”

~

Stiles had been expecting to go back to Peter’s house, but at his questioning noise when they’d pulled up to an off track, hidden amongst the trees, grove overlooking the preserve, the Alpha mentioned that the Hale house is full tonight. So, he’s brought them somewhere more private, if only to make sure Stiles doesn’t hold back any of his pretty sounds.

Something he’d have had to do in a house full of werewolves.

“So, what, we’re going to fuck in your nephews Camaro?” Stiles isn’t against the idea. He’s not going to lie and say that the thought hadn’t crossed his dirty little mind as soon as he’d taken a gander at the surprisingly spacious back seats, but he just wants to be sure.

“Only if you want to.” Peter is heart-warmingly sincere, and Stiles’ belly flutters a little.

“Yes, Stiles very much wants to,” he stutters his agreement while wrestling with his seatbelt, simultaneously opening the door so he can pull forward the front seat to clamber in the back.

Peter isn’t too far behind him in his enthusiasm.

“You’re sure no one will find us, I mean, I am kinda kinky, but exhibitionism doesn’t really do it for me.”

Peter snorts at that. “Good to know you aren’t vanilla,” he says with a filthy smirk. “But no, no one should come across us, even by accident.”

“Famous last words,” Stiles snarks as he lunges forward, covering Peter’s mouth with his, taking no prisoners as he sweeps his tongue over the seam to gain access.

Stiles isn’t playing any games; he wants a taste of the man’s mouth, wants to devour him, body and soul. The wolf lets him take what he needs, surprisingly more submissive than Stiles imagined he’d be, but it doesn’t mean there’s no battle between them.

Their tongues dance together in a salacious waltz, wet and messy, dirty and ravenous. They attack each other with lips and teeth like men starved as if their latest meal hadn’t been enough to satisfy their appetites.

They want more.

Stiles isn’t sure when their clothes had come off or who undressed who, too engrossed in claiming Peter’s mouth as his own to care about the garments strewn haphazardly across every corner of the car.

He pulls his lips away, both panting erratically for breath as they take a moment to indulge in each other’s naked bodies.

Worshipping the uniqueness of one another.

Peter is thick and well-built, while Stiles is lean and athletic. Peter has soft curls on his chest, leading the whole way down to between his thighs, whereas Stiles is bare on the top. Stiles is pale and dark-haired, while Peter is tanned and fair. Each in complete awe of one another’s differences as their fingers roam everywhere they can touch.

“Gods, Stiles, you're beautiful,” Peter whispers as the tips of his fingers trail lightly from his broad shoulders to his back, down to his supple ass and around again.

“You’re not too bad yourself, wolfie,” Stiles offers back, his voice betraying the light humor that was intended as his breath stutters from the desire in his gut.

Peter smiles, his once simmering ocean blue eyes now blown black with lust, looking up to meet his own. Stiles gazes back, their focuses locked on one another for a long, tense moment before Peter pulls them closer together. His hand wraps around the back of Stiles’ head as he brings them chest to chest. He dives into Stiles’ neck, biting bruises into the alabaster skin, sucking the flesh between his teeth until there's no doubt dark, purple marks blooming beneath.

Stiles hisses, the sharp pleasurable pain shooting straight to his leaking cock. He’ll probably have Derek’s scorn to deal with tomorrow, but right now, he doesn’t give an ounce of a shit. He’ll pay the wolf to get his seats professionally cleaned if he must, but he isn’t stopping unless Peter tells him to.

Once content with the masterpiece he’s painted on Stiles’ throat, Peter leans back to assess his handiwork, a self-satisfied smile pulling the corner of his lips.

“Happy?” Stiles asks, his eyebrow raised in question.

“Delighted.” Peters grin widens as his hands travel down the length of Stiles’ torso once again, but this time they end up wrapped loosely around his throbbing cock.

Stiles moans as the man begins pumping his hands up and down the shaft, the touch light but still enough friction to feel incredible.

“I have to say that _this_ is absolutely gorgeous,” Peter purrs, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes follow the movements of his own hands.

Stiles has about three seconds to gather his wits before Peter bends forward and takes him into his mouth, right to the goddamn root.

“Fucking fuck, Peter,” Stiles shouts eloquently, his hands flying out to grab whatever they can to steady himself. One reaches towards the roof while the other tangles itself into Peter’s soft, light brown locks.

The sloppy wet heat of Peter’s mouth is pulling him dangerously close to the edge embarrassingly fast. His back bows as he fights to keep his hips still so as not to choke the man, but he seems to have no problem working his mouth up and down the entire length without so much as a cough.

_Gag reflex, what even is that?_

Peter’s tongue swirls around the head on every upstroke, his cheeks hollowing as he attempts to suck Stiles’ very life essence out through his dick.

“Christ, your mouth is a fucking national treasure,” Stiles mutters out loud, watching enraptured as Peter sucks on him like he’s his favorite lollypop. Stiles feels more than hears the laugh Peter lets out, the sound vibrating across his sensitive skin, enticing a groan from deep in his chest. “Peter, you’re going to have to stop.”

Peter pulls off almost instantly but doesn’t kneel back up; instead, he just looks at him through his lashes as Stiles’ now dripping wet cock springs back towards his belly. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Stiles almost comes at the sight before him, his stomach clenching as if he’s about to erupt. Peter’s lips are red and swollen, slick with spit, his eyes full of concern as if he’s done something wrong. He can’t help reaching out, brushing his thumb through the wet glistening through the man’s stubble. “Nothing’s wrong; I’m just going to come if you keep going.”

Peter lets out a sigh of relief mixed with an amused laugh. “Not sure how often you’ve had sex, Stiles, but that’s kinda the whole point.”

“Listen, I may be young, but I still need some time getting it up again, and if any actual fucking is gonna happen here, I’d rather not come before the main event, thank you kindly.”

Peter hums thoughtfully. “Fair enough. But, I do hope I’ll get the chance to taste you again very soon.” The man twists on his knees, leaning over the front seat to reach the glove compartment, eyes never leaving Stiles’.

“Oh, the chances of this being a repeat occurrence are heavily in your favor, big bad.”

Peter breathes out another chuckle before turning back to kneel in front of him, a clear bottle of lubricant now in his hand.

“Derek keeps lube in his car?” Stiles' brows rise incredulously; the wolf seriously doesn’t seem like the type. “And do I even want to know how you know that?”

“It’s mine, Stiles,” Peter answers dryly. “I never go anywhere unprepared.”

“Wow, very presumptuous of you.”

Peter tosses Stiles the bottle, expecting him to catch it mid-air. “Not presumptuous, just _prepared_. You never know when an opportunity such as this may present itself.” 

Any comeback Stiles might have had dies halfway off his tongue as Peter moves to lie down on his back, legs open wide as he sprawls across the back seats.

Now he’s confused.

“Am I riding you, or?” he asks unsure, scratching the back of his neck as he tries to figure out what Peter expects here before he just assumes.

The wolf rolls his eyes at him, his favorite thing to do, it would seem, as he gets himself more comfortable. “Well, I was rather hoping you’d be sticking your cock in me, like thirty minutes ago,” he drawls.

Stiles’ jaw almost hits the floor. “You... you want me to-”

“Yes, Stiles,” Peter says as if talking to a slow child. “I’d like to be fucked. Is that an issue?”

Stiles can feel his cheeks rippling with how fast he shakes his head. “Nope, no issue whatsoever. The opposite of an issue. I just didn’t think- whatever, that’s- yes, amazing.” He’s babbling; he knows he is, but Christ, this has to be a dream.

“Well, I’m glad we’ve established that. Can we get to it?”

Stiles nods enthusiastically, still not believing his luck right now. “Yes, right away.”

He lubes up two of his fingers, hands shaking slightly as he does so before circling them around Peter’s hole.

He won’t lie and say that this isn’t the absolute best night of his life, and it’s not even over yet.

Stiles is versatile when it comes to sex, but he has a penchant for topping; it’s just his preference. He was more than willing to be fucked by Peter Hale—repeatedly and in several different positions—but this... well, this is just like all his Christmases have come at once.

Peter moaning and writhing beneath him as he scissors a third finger into his body is just otherworldly. He’s had many a wet dream about this very man, taken himself in hand and fantasized about being above him, fucking into his mouth and ass more times than is probably healthy. Still, he never even entertained the possibility that it would actually happen. If he even for a second believed he’d get the chance to make his fantasy a reality, he thought he’d be on the receiving end of things.

He’s never in his whole life been more elated at being proved wrong.

“Stiles,” Peter groans out his name as he ruts onto the fingers grazing his sweet spot. It’s like music to Stiles’ ears, and he has to think of a few unsexy thoughts to stop himself falling into ecstasy right there.

“What do you need, baby?” he whispers, twisting his wrist a little, making sure to go in deep as Peter pants his name a few more times. Stiles doesn’t miss the way Peter clenches at the pet name, his muscles rippling enticingly as he tenses.

“I... I need you inside me.”

“I am inside you.” Stiles highlights that fact by placing stable pressure against the wolf’s prostate, keeping his fingers there as Peter’s thighs tremble.

Peter growls, a rumble low in his chest, a dangerous and frustrated sound as his eyes flash Alpha red. “Stiles, I swear to the Gods if you don’t get your cock inside me right now, I’ll-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence as Stiles removes his fingers, lines up his cock, and slides home in one sure roll of his hips, all within the time it takes him to rant.

“Fuck me,” the wolf curses, gasping as his hands fly above his head to hold onto the door.

“Yeah, that’s like the whole point,” Stiles retorts, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face at the glare he gets in return.

“Stiles, move,” Peter grits through his teeth, and well, Stiles doesn’t have the willpower to deny him.

He takes it slow at first, pulling almost all the way out before plunging back in, deep and sensual, just to give the wolf time to adjust.

Stiles is pretty big—if he does say so himself. He’s watched a lot of porn and fucked a fair few guys to know he’s well above average. So, he doesn’t want to just start pounding into the man without giving him the courtesy of relaxing to accommodate him first.

His kind consideration, however, is all for naught, it seems.

“Stiles, fuck me,” Peter demands, voice calm and calculated even with his rapid breathing.

“Yes, your Majesty,” Stiles drawls sarcastically, getting another glare for his efforts.

_Fucking Princess._

Stiles grabs hold of Peter’s hips pulling upwards to get a better angle as his next thrusts hit the wolf’s prostate in rapid succession.

Peter’s head falls back as he lifts himself up, back bowing as he uses the leverage at his hands and the strength in his thighs to meet Stiles thrust for thrust.

Stiles’ fingers dig into Peter’s hips, the pressure would bruise if werewolves could be marked, but he still can’t seem to keep his grip. His hands are slipping as both his and Peter’s skin slick up with sweat, making it difficult to rut in as far as he wants to go.

Stiles roars in frustration, pulling out without warning, hissing as Peter’s walls clench desperately to keep him locked inside.

Peter’s brow creases in confusion, but before he can voice his grievances, Stiles barks out his command. “Get on your hands and knees,” he growls, eyes hard and unrelenting, his chest heaving with the fire rising in his belly, enveloping his lungs as he pants like a lust-driven, wild animal.

Peter’s eyes go wide, and Stiles notices the wolf twitch, white dripping down his length at the dominant tone.

He grips the base of his cock to stave off his impending orgasm at how quick Peter is to comply with the order. The sight of him changing his position almost as soon as he demanded it is making his toes curl.

How he’s not even slightly affronted at Stiles dishing out commands to an Alpha werewolf is just the hottest thing he’s ever witnessed.

Stiles leans forward, running his fingers through Peter’s hair, the damp curls tickling his palm as he gives a sharp little tug. The moan he receives is pornographic, so he does it again, pulling roughly on Peter’s hair until his head bends backward, neck arched deliciously.

“You like that, hm?" Stiles rumbles, voice like gravel. "You like it rough?” 

Peter nods, his hands moving to the door, palms flat against the surface to give himself more leverage as Stiles thrusts back into his sloppy hole.

In this position, he can get impossibly deeper, wanting to believe he’s rutting right into his guts, hollowing the wolf out as he fucks him in abandon.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” Stiles breathes out, more thinking out loud than anything else, but at Peter’s whimper from the words, he doesn’t regret them coming out louder than planned.

Stiles moves the hand from Peter’s hip to under his belly, pulling the man up until his back connects with his chest, the grip on his hair tightening further. His fingers trail up to pinch Peter’s nipples, the delicate buds hardening under his sharp nips, the searing pain earning him a quivering mewl.

“Are you close, baby?” he growls, his arm wrapping firmly around the wolf’s broad chest to hold him close as he fucks into him like a beast in heat.

The pleasure builds in his gut, the tempting pressure threatening to wash over him any second.

Peter nods his head at the question, gasping as the action pulls on the hair still entangled in Stiles’ fingers.

“You going to come from just my cock, or do you need me to touch you?” Stiles’ hips are stuttering, his words not much better as he fights not to lose control, determined to see Peter break first.

“I... I- Gods, Stiles,” Peter cries out, his muscles tensing as he gets so close to cresting over that peak.

“That’s it, baby,” Stiles drops his voice low, his lips ghosting against the shell of Peter’s ear. “Come for me.”

A silent scream tears at Peter’s throat, his mouth falling open as he comes hard, his release painting the leather seats beneath them. Stiles follows him over the edge, shooting as far into Peter's body as it will go, his cock pulsing as the velvet heat constricts through the last shocks of pleasure, milking him for everything he has.

Peter goes boneless, falling backward into Stiles’ hold as he rides the last few waves of ecstasy. Stiles’ body sways, his orgasm almost crippling him with its intensity, trembling with the force of keeping them both upright.

He guides Peter forward gently, resting his head against the seat as he pulls out his softening cock. They both hiss, and Stiles watches enthralled as his come seeps out from Peter's hole. Before he can stop himself, he takes two fingers and pushes every leaking drop back inside him.

Peter whimpers beneath him at the overstimulation, but Stiles shushes him with a soft kiss to the bottom of his spine.

Content that, much like a wolf, he’s thoroughly marked the man from the inside out, he lets himself fall backward. He lands on his ass in the corner of the far side of the backseat. He reaches over to grab the first piece of clothing he finds, his boxer briefs apparently, and gives himself and Peter a quick wipe down before throwing the garment onto the floor again.

After a few seconds, Peter turns himself around, only grimacing slightly at either the tenderness in his ass or the copious streaks of their combined release he’s no doubt just sat in.

“Derek is going to have a coronary,” Stiles speaks after several moments of them both just catching their breaths.

Peter smirks; well, tries too, but he's too fucked out for it to hit its mark. “And I will cry at his funeral, but fuck, that was so worth it.”

Stiles preens a little, his chest puffing out like a proud bird.

Peter looks over at him, a kind but slightly dopey smile across his face. “I have something to admit.”

And there goes Stiles’ heartrate.

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles groans pitifully, his afterglow stunted prematurely as his head lolls backward, hitting the window with a painful _thump_. “You’re married, aren’t you?” he guesses, but at Peter's taken aback expression, he must've guessed wrong.

“No, I’m not married; why would you even-”

“Ah, hell, you’ve got kids?” Stiles interrupts, hands grabbing his hair as he prays for strength.

How is this his life?

“Well, yes... but that’s not what I’m trying to-”

“What?!” Stiles all but shouts, limbs flailing in all directions. “You have kids? How many? Where are they? Do you see them? Christ, Peter, what the fuck?!” Stiles may be overreacting, but halfway through the come down from his high, the guy he’s just had sex with admitting he has kids is kind of a big deal.

For him, at least.

“Just one, and I see her occasionally. She’s two years younger than you and- Stiles, this is a confession for another time,” Peter grits the words through his teeth as he gestures between them, clearly uncomfortable talking about his daughter while in the state they're in.

Which, fair enough, but, _fuck_ , two years younger?

“Jesus wept.” Stiles drops his head towards his chest, taking a moment to absorb the information before chuckling a little manically to himself. “I have so many questions.”

“I’m sure you do, sweetheart, and I swear, I'll answer them all another time.” Stiles lifts his head back up as Peter grabs hold of his hand, caressing it gently. “I promise.”

Stiles sees the sincerity in those ocean blue depths, so he nods his head in agreement, still not entirely calm but not as frantically close to hyperventilating as a few minutes ago. He places his hand on top of the wolf’s to return the affectionate gesture.

Peter smiles warmly, shifting his position to get closer to him. “Now, for what I was _actually_ going to say before you jumped to conclusions-”

“I was right, though,” Stiles huffs out a laugh as he interrupts again.

“Yes, maybe, but still, what I was going to admit was that I knew from the very first moment I came back to Beacon Hills that you were it for me.” At Stiles’ confused expression, he continues, eyes never straying from his. “The moment I stepped foot over the threshold of our front door, I got hit by this sweet, sickly, and utterly intoxicating scent. Talia noticed; she said my wolf rose to the fore in search of whoever smelled so much like warmth, and family, and home. Like _mate_.”

Stiles pulls himself closer to Peter, their thighs touching as he leans in to hold the man’s other hand, squeezing it tightly for him to continue.

“Talia wasn’t sure at first who it could've been since so many people were at the Hale house the week I arrived home. So, I didn’t get to put a face to the scent until that day I was brought into the Sheriff’s station, and I have to say...” Peter smiles, warm and honest, and it makes Stiles feel all fluttery inside. “I’ve never in my life been more grateful for being arrested.”

“So why did you go through all the trouble of courting me when you knew straight away that you wanted me?”

“Because I wasn’t sure if you’d want me. You’re young, got your whole life ahead of you, and I’m older, yes, but I’m also dangerous, Stiles. I’m an apex predator and the enforcer of the Hale pack. You’re a deputy; your father's the Sheriff; I didn’t want to cause any tension between you by jumping in headfirst, especially when I wasn’t sure if you’d accept me for what I was. For what I _am_ ,” Peter answers genuinely, eyes glistening as if he’s holding back tears.

Stiles just wants to wrap his arms around him and never let go.

He never thought he'd see a man like Peter looking so vulnerable, so soft and gentle. It warms his heart that he’s being trusted to know this side of him.

“I wanted you too, Peter. From the moment you walked through that door, I _wanted_. I could never explain it, but the day I sat down in front of you in that interview room, something inside me was screaming for me to get you out of there, to- I don’t know, keep you safe? It sounds ridiculous,” Stiles shakes his head, breaking eye contact to lower his gaze, cheeks heating as if embarrassed by the very notion.

Peter’s finger lifts his chin back up, a wide gleeful grin splitting his face. “No, no, it doesn’t. You feel the bond too.” His smile grows impossibly wider, and Stiles sees the moment his brain comes up with something. “Your mother, wasn’t she a spark?”

Stiles nods, remembering his dad using the word to describe his mother. She hadn’t been a druid as most pack emissaries, nor a witch, but a spark. Someone who has magic in their blood, running deep in their veins but cannot conjure up spells as witches do, they use their belief to make things reality. They can cast runes and circles of mountain ash using just their strong-willed imagination.

“Is it possible that you inherited some of her traits?”

Stiles is taken aback by the question. Has never thought about the possibility nor ever been told anything contrary to him being human. “I’m not sure. Would... would that explain how I feel this invisible sort of connection to you, like a gut feeling that you’re 'the one'?”

Peter nods as he runs his hand over the side of his face, fingers curling in his hair. Stiles leans into the touch, his eyes a little glassy at the possibility of having something of his mothers. Something rooted in his very bones, something that has led him straight to Peter.

To his _mate_.

Peter leans forward, pulling Stiles’ head down to meet him. Their lips brush against each other, something delicate and tender, barely touching, just breathing in the same air. He parts his mouth ever so slightly, anticipating Peter’s next move as the wolf rubs his nose against his, a gesture to open his mouth for him.

A sign that he’s about to _take_.

The moment is ruined, however, by a familiar blaring sound outside the car. Peter flinches back at the loud noise ringing through his eardrums, as Stiles’ face drains of all color.

A fucking police siren.

“Shit,” Stiles hisses through his teeth, pulling back from Peter as if burned before donning his clothes with as much speed as he can. “You said no one would find us here.”

Peter, thankfully, doesn’t dawdle, flinging on his clothes with as much haste as Stiles. “I... I was sure no one knew of this place,” Peter stutters out as he fumbles with the buttons of his shirt—half of them missing. “Fuck.”

Stiles is up, clambering over the front seat like a startled deer and out of the door before he can even process Peter’s reply.

Stiles works with these guys; maybe his face will clear up any misgivings before things get out of hand. He plasters on his most charming Stilinski smile and makes his way around to the driver’s side, turning to walk towards the police cruiser parked a few meters away.

His face drops instantly as soon as his eyes focus on the figure making his way towards him. “Fuck my life.”

“Stiles?” his father’s voice echoes through the space between them, the headlights of the cruiser shining on Stiles like a goddamn spotlight. “What are you-” The man cuts himself off as his gaze flits over Stiles’ disheveled appearance, his steps stopping abruptly as he looks between the car and Stiles then back again. “That’s Derek Hale’s car,” his father states matter-of-factly.

“Is it?” Stiles chirps innocently, internally cringing at his utter stupidity.

“I’d like to think you know that since you just came out of it.”

“Er, yeah, funny story, it’s not actually Derek’s car, well it _is_ Derek’s car, but it’s not _Derek_ who’s in it.” It takes a second, but Stiles sees the moment his father’s brain draws up a conclusion, eyes widening, face dropping, fists tightening at his sides, and Stiles mentally berates his mouth’s inability to shut the hell up.

He starts to laugh nervously, but his dad cuts him off before he can continue rambling. “Why were you in the backseat of Derek Hale’s car... with his uncle?” His dad’s face is blooming red with his building rage.

Oh God, Stiles is dead, Peter is dead, they're both dead and buried. Gone, _poof_ , no more Stiles or Peter.

Stiles swallows thickly, his throat suddenly dry as the desert as he lifts his arms out in the universal gesture of _I don’t know what the fuck to say._

“Goddammit, Stiles,” the Sheriff hisses, and Stiles just doesn’t know how to bullshit his way out of this one.

He decides to give it a go anyway. “We weren’t doing anything; we were just-” he tries, but again he’s cut off.

“Stiles... your boxers are sticking to the side of your jeans,” his father breathes out in a long-suffering sigh.

_Oh no, please, no._

Stiles hazards a glance down, and sure enough, halfway down his leg are his batman boxer briefs hanging onto him like a goddamn bauble on a Christmas tree. He blinks a few times, hoping they'll just magically evaporate into thin air, but when they don’t, he snatches at the fabric, visibly cringing when they make the same ripping sound as if tearing off a band-aid.

“Dad, I can explain.” He holds up his hands in mock surrender, dying a little inside as his boxers stick to his palm even as he tries to shake them off.

His father just lifts his hand to silence him. “Good evening, Peter.” The man’s voice increases in volume to be heard through the closed car door.

Stiles’ eyes screw shut, chin tilted to the heavens as he prays for the ground to swallow him up. The sound of the car ignition turning followed by the window sliding open as slow as molasses makes him wish for a swift death.

“It certainly is, Sheriff,” Peter’s voice comes from behind him; he doesn’t even need to turn around to see the smarmy smirk plastered on the man’s face.

Keeping up his infuriating façade right to the bitter end, it seems.

The Sheriff shakes his head, dropping his hand back to his side as he curses Peter’s heritage under his breath.

After a few seconds of Stiles debating whether or not to disrupt the uncomfortable silence with his usual line of nervous rambles, his father finally looks up at him. His face is a little less close to combustion than before, but maybe that’s just the exhaustion of dealing with another of Stiles’ less than ideal decisions taking over.

“Get yourselves out of here; I don’t care where you go or what you do, just please do it indoors, for the sake of my heart if nothing else. I don’t want to have to throw you both in the cell for public indecency.” His voice is back to its steady, authoritative tone, maybe a little exasperated, but that’s normal when dealing with Stiles’ antics.

Stiles breathes a sigh of relief.

While his father doesn’t seem overly keen on the prospect of one day calling Peter Hale his son-in-law, he has seemingly gotten over his initial qualms and is trusting his son’s choices, at least for tonight.

He smiles at his father, giving him an appreciative nod. The Sheriff returns the gesture, a little distracted, but he’ll take it for what it is.

His father goes to walk away but stops himself, thinking twice, and turns back.

Stiles freezes.

He points his finger sternly in his direction, his voice losing its cop authority but still brooking no further argument, “I’ll see you both tomorrow morning for breakfast. We can all talk properly then.” His finger moves towards the car next, his words taking on a threatening lilt. “And, Hale...”

“Yes, Sheriff?”

“You do anything to hurt him, and I will kill you.”

 _Well, that’s just super_ , the voice in Stiles’ head offers sarcastically.

“I would expect nothing less,” Peter replies honestly with no hint of mischief.

If anything, he sounds almost respectful.

With a curt nod, his father storms back to the still flashing cruiser. Stiles lifts his hand in an awkward wave as the man reverses off the grass, backing up onto the dirt path from whence he came. The fear-inducing blue beacons finally switch off, and Stiles waits until the car’s taillights dim entirely before letting all his breath seep out of him like a burst tire.

Peter’s irritatingly airy and unaffected voice breaks through the silence. “Well, that went a little better than expected.” 

“He threatened to kill you.” He turns to Peter, who he now sees is half hanging out of the car window, fully dressed—Stiles praises the Lord for that small mercy.

“Hm, yes, but that’s literally any parents reaction when it comes to their children,” he shrugs, like the threat of death doesn’t bother him an ounce. “Well, most anyway, especially when it comes to them dating me.”

Stiles snorts. “Oh, so we’re dating now, huh?”

Peter rolls his eyes, and Stiles is seriously beginning to think it’s the wolf’s default reaction to anything that’s even slightly vexing. “I have spent the last few months wooing you as my instincts dictate, and not several minutes ago, I had your cock up my ass... so yes, Stiles, I think we could be dating.”

Stiles puffs out a resigned sigh. “Are you always so crude?”

“Well, my dear, if you weren’t so oblivious, I wouldn’t have to offend your delicate sensibilities, now would I?” Peter retorts, the signature bite of whimsical sass unmistakable.

Stiles shakes his head, equal parts exasperated and amused. “You’re insufferable.”

“Ah, but alas, you’re still interested.” Peter winks, eyes alight with mirth even in the darkness as he smiles smugly.

Stiles can’t help but fall even more hopelessly in love with the asshole. “Alas, I’m still interested.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I think I have tagged everything that needs to be tagged, but if I have missed something, please let me know so I can update for future readers. The last thing I want to do is offend anyone.
> 
> You can talk to me on Tumblr at [asarcasticwitch](http://asarcasticwitch.tumblr.com).
> 
> Stay safe and take care, all!


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